


Sam and the Stall

by justspn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring Bobby, Caring Dean, Gen, High School, Life at Bobby's, Sick Sam, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:33:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8380831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justspn/pseuds/justspn
Summary: Sam gets sick at school and Dean comes to the rescue.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it's been so long! I've been super busy with college.

Sam walked through the halls, his eyes scanning the crowd for Dean. This was the last year he and Dean would be in school together, and Sam still wasn't used to seeing Dean's face in the halls yet. 

Sam stopped at his locker, swapping his science book for his Advanced Freshman English books. He headed towards the English wing, wishing the day would hurry up and end. The cereal he had eaten at breakfast wasn't agreeing with his stomach and he wanted to curl up on the couch and watch cartoons. He sat at his desk once he got to the English room and pulled out the homework he finished the night before. It had been easy, a book report. When the bell rang, signaling the start of class, the teacher walked around and collected the reports. Then she had the class aid pass out the next book they were going to read while she explained the assignment for the day. 

Sam bit his cheek. His stomach really didn't feel well. He took a deep breath and glanced up at the clock. Class had only been in session for 10 minutes. He felt a sweat break out on his forehead and goosebumps pop up on his arms. He hadn't thrown up in a few years, but he still remembered that feeling the way he did meant things were about to get ugly. He raised his hand, but the teacher's back was to the class. Deciding he didn't care about getting in trouble for not using the hall pass, he quietly got up and quickly left the room. 

Luckily the bathrooms were just around the corner. He went into a stall and leaned back against the door. For a second he thought maybe it had been a false alarm, but then realized it was going to happen when he tasted bile in his mouth. 

When he finished vomiting he wiped his mouth with toilet paper and flushed the toilet. His whole body was shaking and he had to blink away tears. The bathroom door squeaked open and Sam closed his eyes, hoping whoever it was would turn around and leave. 

"Sam? Are you in here?" the student-aid asked softly. Sam opened the stall door and went to wash his hands.

"Yeah." Sam answered, leaning heavily on the sink. He closed his eyes to fight off the dizziness that was overtaking his vision. 

"Are you okay? Mrs. Wilkes sent me to check on you." the aid said. He looked concerned but also grossed out by the smell of vomit. 

"I think I need to go home." Sam said, his voice cracking. His eyes stung with tears and he desperately wanted Dean to hug him and take him home. 

"Okay. Do you want me to go get someone for you?" 

"Will you find my brother?" he knew that the aid knew Dean, that they were friends even. 

"Yeah, sure. I'll be right back." The aid left and Sam went back into his stall. His stomach was still churning. 

After what felt like decades, the door squeaked open again. Dean and the aid walked in. 

"I'll go tell Mrs. Wilkes and grab your books." the aid told Sam before leaving. 

"Matt said you're sick. What's up Sammy?" Dean asked, automatically palming Sam's forehead. 

"I just-" Sam started, getting cut off by the taste of bile. He crouched next to the toilet and threw up again while Dean rubbed his back. 

"Take it easy." Dean hushed. Sam couldn't stop the tears this time. When he finished Dean handed him a wad of toilet paper and flushed the toilet. 

The door squeaked open. Dean left Sam's side to get Sam's books from Matt, the aid Sam now knew the name of. 

"You good?" Dean asked when Matt left.

"Yeah." Sam whispered. He was shaking and sweating and overall miserable. 

"Let's go get your bag and call Dad from the office." Dean said. They walked through the halls together and Dean waited while Sam got his bag out of his locker. One lady in the office took Sam's temperature while another called John. Dean watched Sam with concern. He was white as a sheet and his hair was plastered to his face and neck with sweat. 

"All right sweetheart. Your dad said Dean can take you home. Just sign out." one lady said. Dean signed both of them out and then lead Sam across the campus to where he parked the old truck everyday. 

"Is it just your stomach?" Dean asked once they were on their way home, to Bobby's house. 

"Mrs. Jones told me I had a fever when she took my temperature." Sam answered.

"I'm sure Bobby will have what we need to get you feeling better." Dean said. Bobby always knew what to do. 

They pulled into the driveway of Singer's Auto and Sam looked relieved to get out of the moving vehicle. He'd spent the whole ride home with his eyes pinched shut and his body hunched over. Dean was surprised that he had made it home without puking again. 

Dean followed Sam inside. Bobby was at his desk and was surprised when he saw the boys come in. Dean saw him look at the clock on the wall and frown. Sam all but ran to the bathroom, so Bobby asked Dean the questions. 

"He sick?" Bobby asked.

Dean nodded. "Been throwing up all day. He's got a fever too." 

"Looked like he'd seen a ghost. Pale, I mean." Bobby said, standing up. He went to the bathroom door and knocked softly. "Sam? You need anything?"

Dean winced when he heard Sam gag through the door. He figured he'd let Bobby take care of the puke now that he didn't have to be the adult of the situation. He went to the kitchen and got a glass of water and a bucket. He brought them to the couch and set it up so Sam could watch cartoons. He also found some Tylenol and some Pepto-Bismal and brought them to Bobby, who was now draping a cold washcloth on the back of Sam's neck. 

"Thanks boy." Bobby said taking the meds. Dean turned to leave. 

"He's gonna need a change of clothes!" Bobby yelled after him. 

"Gotcha!" Dean called back, heading up the stairs to the room they shared. He dug through Sam's drawers until he found some sweatpants and a hoodie. He also grabbed a blanket off Sam's bed before heading back downstairs. He gave Bobby the clothes and draped the blanket over the back of the couch. He went to the kitchen to see what Bobby had found for soup. From the kitchen he heard Sam settle on the couch and turn the tv on. Bobby came into the kitchen 30 seconds later. 

"Poor kid. Probably feels like hell," Bobby said, pulling soup out of the cupboard Dean hadn't yet looked in. "Bad enough he's throwing up, his temperature is almost 104˚. I gave him some meds but I doubt they'll stay down long enough to help any."

"Does he need anything?" Dean asked. 

"Just some sleep for now. He probably wants you to rub his head, you know, the way you do when he's sick." Bobby said opening the can of chicken noodle. Dean went into the living room. Sam was huddled beneath the blanket. He was shockingly pale against the blue of the blanket.

"How ya doin' Sammy?" Dean asked, sitting gently on the end of the couch. Sam answered with a look of pure misery but didn't say anything. 

"You need anything?"

"Will you rub my head?" Sam whispered. 

"Yeah." Dean said, scooching Sam over so he could sit on the other end of the couch where Sam could lay his head in his lap. He felt Sam melt into the couch as he rubbed Sam's sweaty forehead. So far he was keeping the Tylenol down pretty well. Occasionally he would burp and Dean was ready to jump for the bucket sitting by his feet, but Sam didn't seem to need it. Dean could feel Sam growing heavier and heavier, falling asleep. Bobby walked through on his way back to his desk. 

"He okay?" Bobby whispered gruffly. Dean nodded. 

The movement of his fingers through Sam's hair lulled him to sleep. He was awoken when Sam rolled off the couch landing on his hands and knees, spitting bile into the bucket. 

"Shh, shh it's okay." Dean shushed. Sam gagged and spit a half dissolved Tylenol into the bucket. Dean grimaced, but kept rubbing Sam's back. Bobby heard the commotion and came into the living room. He helped Sam back onto the couch when he had finished throwing up. He carried the bucket away and Dean could hear him rinsing it out. 

"Gonna make it Dean-o?" Bobby asked, setting the bucket back down. 

Dean nodded, swallowing. If there was one thing that really grossed him out it was vomit. He could deal with blood and guts and even puss from infected wounds, but puke made him queasy. 

"Let me know if you need a break." Bobby said, patting Dean on the shoulder. Dean watched Bobby walk back to his desk. 

"Dean?" Sam asked in a shaky voice.

"Yeah Sammy?" 

"Thanks for taking care of me. I know you hate it when I throw up." 

"Sammy, I'd do anything for you, you know that." Dean said, ruffling Sam's hair. "And it's not just your puke I hate. It's anybody's. Yuck." 

Sam gave Dean a weak smile before he closed his eyes and went back to sleep. Dean took a deep breath and started rubbing Sam's head again. To be honest, he could even deal with Sam's puke. Just no one else's.


End file.
